


You and your pity don't fit in my bed

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breakfast in Bed, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic, Werewolf Pain-Relief Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22600879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Breaking his leg was not badass, even if it did happen while saving his entire pack. And now Derek was feeling sorry for him and bringing him breakfast in bed. What was up with that?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 50
Kudos: 1035
Collections: Sterek Valentine Week





	You and your pity don't fit in my bed

**Author's Note:**

> Day 2 of Sterek valentine week: Breakfast in Bed

It was a little disappointing that the tale of his broken leg was so very supernatural, because it was super badass and he really felt like it would give him some desperately needed cool points with his classmates. 

But having to explain golems (without diving into Lord of the Rings jokes) and witches was just going to lose him the cool points he’d gained with a badass injury. He’d saved werewolf lives with this, okay, and no one knew how awesome he was for doing that - except for the pack, and well… They weren’t all that great about showing love and appreciation. 

Maybe they were going to try and be helpful once he was back in school - but it was Friday morning and his Dad had assured him (rather harshly, actually) that Stiles wasn’t leaving the house for the next few days. Not on pain of death. 

And telling him that the monster had been killed - or more like, turned back into clay and then smashed into smithereens - was not going to help. No, that was only going to make things worse, because his Dad still had no freaking clue that monsters were very much a real thing in Beacon Hills. Somehow they’d managed to keep it from him for about two years now - Stiles had made it to his eighteenth birthday (with at least a dozen close calls that still gave him nightmares) without revealing Beacon Hills’ supernatural underbelly. 

He’d also made it to eighteen with his virginity intact, which was just disappointing. 

But that was all going to change once he got to college, maybe. Sure, Berkeley was not actually that far away, and a part of him actually wanted to stick around Beacon Hills just to make sure that people were safe, but it was a whole new environment where Stiles’ involvement in the whole monster murdering thing was going to be a bit more hands-off. 

Derek had asked him - or more like, voluntold him into continuing to do pack research. Which made sense, really, because it wasn’t like anyone else was half as good at it. Especially since Lydia was still firmly outside of the pack, even after the whole, finding dead bodies thing. 

Stiles didn’t get it, but then again, Lydia didn’t understand why he’d stay. So, that made the whole fifteen year plan a bit… redundant? Pointless? Stupid? All of the above. 

“Dad,” Stiles hollered when he heard noises downstairs. “Can you bring up some food?” 

He was fucking starving - even though he wasn’t doing a whole lot of moving, he was still a teenage boy and therefore always in need of food. And with his leg in the big, clunky cast, he was not allowed to move up and down the stairs on his own. Which meant that someone had to play servant. And since Stiles had no friends who weren’t supposed to be in school, his Dad was his only option. The Sheriff was not amused. 

It was weird, because he could have sworn that his Dad had left a little while ago to get some more groceries. Maybe he’d fallen asleep - it would explain the hunger. 

When there was no response from downstairs, he just sighed. His Dad was angry at him still, for getting injured and being unable to tell even his own father just what had happened to him. Of course his father knew he was lying, but he had no actual evidence to expose Stiles. So instead, to deal with his worry and anger, he was giving Stiles the silent treatment. 

Yeah, Stiles’ maturity really ran in the family. 

Yelling some more was only going to make it worse, so he was forced to sit there, in silence, bored out of his damn skull because all of the entertainment was downstairs and his Dad had taken his laptop as some kind of punishment. Which, sure, he understood the principle, but he was also very aware of how bad of an idea it was to leave the injured teen with ADHD without anything to distract him from his own mind. 

“He’s probably making me a salad,” Stiles sighed. 

Talking to himself was at least slightly more entertaining than just sitting there in silence until his Dad got over his hissy fit (or until Scott was done with school and took the next shift of babysitting Stiles). 

Well, if Scott wasn’t distracted by Allison.  _ Again _ . It had been known to happen. 

Finally there were footsteps on the stairs - more subtle than his Dad usually was, but maybe the whole, carrying the food upstairs was making him move more carefully. It would suck if something happened to the food like halfway up. So yeah, Stiles could deal. Maybe. 

“Thanks,” he started rambling before the door was fully open. “I think my stomach has been digesting itself, and since I’m barely even allowed to go to the bathroom because some overly sensible person thinks that I need to be supervised whenever I move, I get to feel like I’m a little kid again, which is exactly what a guy wants when he’s just a few weeks from graduating high school and getting the hell out of- Derek?” 

Now that was a surprise. 

Instead of his Dad, silently grumbling about having to take care of his idiot son who’d broken his leg in what he claimed was a stupid accident, he was faced with Derek fucking Hale, carefully carrying a tray with breakfast foods into Stiles’ room. 

Eggs, bacon, pancakes - all the ridiculously awesome food that his Dad was never going to let him have (payback for all the food Dad was not allowed to have). Derek had filled the plate with all Stiles’ favorite breakfast foods - and boy, did he have many of those. It was a little disappointing that he’d foregone coffee, but there was juice that looked like it had been freshly squeezed and… This was a guilt breakfast. 

Derek felt guilty for his minimal involvement in Stiles’ broken leg. Of course he did. The Alpha was good at the whole martyr thing - and yeah, after what he’d been through, Stiles couldn’t exactly blame him for it. Still, it was extremely unnecessary. 

“Don’t apologize,” he told Derek before his Alpha could tell him anything. “The taste of guilt is going to put me off my breakfast. And you wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry.” 

The sensation of his stomach rumbling was enough of a frustrating distraction, but coupled with Derek’s presence in his room? His mind was all over the place, trying not to think too hard of how he wasn’t wearing underwear underneath his largest pair of sweatpants because getting it on was almost impossible with this damn cast. Trying not to think of how he probably smelled disgustingly of sweat and hospital and medication - because Derek could smell that. Stiles had found out about that when Derek started pointing out when he’d missed a dose of Adderall. 

It was annoying, but also helped keep him level, so. Thanks Derek? Sort of? 

“Eat up,” was all Derek said. 

“Does my Dad know you’re here?” Stiles just had to ask, because he was bored to death and this sounded like the start of a solid soap opera. “Or did you wait for him to leave for the grocery store and then leapt through an open window on the ground floor somewhere? Yeah, never mind, I answered my own question. How many backflips did it take?” 

Stiles was very aware of just how extra Derek could get about the acrobatics, and even more aware of how Derek was smart enough to stay away from the Sheriff after the many, many near-misses and brushes with death they’d had over the past two years. 

“Your father asked me to look after you,” Derek wasn’t looking at him. 

“Lie,” Stiles gleefully shouted at him. “I know I don’t have werewolf polygraph hearing, but there is no way my Dad gave you permission to stalk me from inside the house this time. You can’t fuck with my poor injured self like this, Der-Bear. That’s just rude.” 

The Sheriff was famously not impressed with Derek after the murder charges (which Derek had been cleared of), the many kanima-related violent incidents (which had mostly been blamed on Gerard and his team of idiots), and the injuries obtained by Stiles in pack-related missions (that his Dad had no evidence for, not linking to Derek anyway). So Derek stayed away, and the Sheriff grumbled about bad influences and adult men hanging out with teenagers, and Stiles needing to find new friends at Berkeley. And no one risked the status quo. 

Until now, apparently. 

“He’s been called in,” Derek set up the little table that Stiles was supposed to use for food. “We ran into each other at the store. He wasn’t happy about it. He told me that for once there were benefits to me being a creep who only hangs out with teenagers.”

Stiles was going to have to talk to his Dad about that, because clearly (CLEARLY!) the man had no fucking clue of just how wrong he was about Derek - and how he was accusing the wrong person of creeping on teenagers. How he was basically accusing a victim of continuing the cycle of creepiness. How Derek would never take advantage of him - only that was not something that could be explained without breaking Derek’s trust. 

Not that Derek had ever told him what had happened. But Stiles had eyes, and a sharp mind, and access to old police files. He put everything together ages ago. 

No one else knew - he didn’t think. And it wasn’t on him to tell anyone. Derek didn’t have many secrets left. Stiles was going to let him keep this one. 

“I’m sorry about my Dad,” Stiles apologized, sincerely for once. 

“He’s not wrong,” Derek shrugged, pretended it didn’t hurt. 

All Derek’s high school friends had either moved away or had been spectacularly terrible friends in the years since he left Beacon Hills. Even when it was obvious that he was back in town, only one or two people reached out to him - and they’d quickly abandoned him in the aftermath of Laura’s death and the mountain lion murders and the suspicions surrounding Derek. The only people who’d stood by Derek… 

Not even Stiles had done that - he’d believed that Derek had killed his sister at some point. But he knew better now, and was now actively supporting Derek. None of his friends had done that - so no wonder Derek only hung out with teenagers. They were the only ones in the know, the only ones who didn’t see him as a straight-up killer, the only ones who weren’t all that suspicious of his intentions (yeah, Scott was the exception there). Derek didn’t have a whole lot of options. Stiles was probably one of the few people who treated him like an equal - who called him on his shit when it came to the pack, but also respected his experience and knowledge. Who genuinely kind of liked him as a person, wreck as he might have been. 

“He is wrong about you,” Stiles firmly believed that. “You’re bringing me breakfast in bed. You were up in the tree most of last night, just to make sure that nothing was hurting me. You took my pain before the ambulance came. You’re getting pretty okay at the whole Alpha thing.” 

No one would have expected it, but Derek was actually doing okay at the whole Alpha thing, even though he was always meant to be the Pack Diplomat. He studied linguistics in college, spoke almost half a dozen languages, and was smarter than most of his terrible plans gave him credit for. If Laura had lived, she could have rebuilt her pack with him as her only support. 

Also, he said pretty okay because Derek was going to faint if Stiles ever gave him a sincere compliment. That was just not how they communicated with each other. 

“Just eat your greasy food,” Derek tried to order him around. 

“Are you going to stick around?” Stiles asked, while shoving a strip of perfectly crispy bacon in his face. “Because I’m the most bored I have ever been, and all boredom and no entertainment makes Stiles… Well, crazier than usual. Derek, entertain me. Please. I beg of you.” 

Table manners were overrated around wolves - he’d seen Derek rip into monsters, so the least Derek could do was let Stiles stuff his face, after far too many hours going hungry. Also, Derek had seen him eat curly fries before, and nothing could beat that when it came to Stiles actually inhaling his food. Scott had timed him once. Stiles was almost proud of his speed, were it not that he almost choked at that point. 

“I can work from here,” Derek sat down at Stiles’ desk. “Someone has to make sure you don’t kill yourself by falling out of bed.” 

Working? Derek? Yeah, Derek probably had some kind of job, a freelance job probably. That was the only way he could fit something in around all of the pack requirements. Now that Derek had an actual house near the Preserve (and not an abandoned train car or broken-down loft) he probably needed to start making money for rent and all that. 

Though Derek had never seemed worried about money, and he was always happy (or just, content) to pay for food on pack night. So maybe there was more to it than that. 

A nice mystery to get his teeth into while he was stuck as an invalid. 

Or was he already heading towards a particular Rear Window kind of madness? 

“I’m a big boy,” Stiles was kind of offended. “And I’m not an idiot. I won’t even attempt the stairs without your careful supervision. But my Dad took my laptop and my games and I need my entertainment. So talk to me. You’re more entertaining than watching paint dry.” 

He was being an asshole. But once again, if he was nice to Derek, Derek was absolutely going to get suspicious of him. And Stiles was happier pulling Derek’s metaphorical pigtails than having his stupid feelings being brought out into the open - because while the fifteen year Lydia Martin plan had been deemed ridiculous, well… The ten year Derek Hale plan was firmly in place, even though he knew it was never going to happen. 

At least he didn’t have Derek up on some pedestal. His feet were firmly on the ground. 

“Barely, I’m sure,” Derek sniped, with the sarcasm Stiles had grown to adore. 

“Give yourself a little more credit,” Stiles teased, finally enjoying himself. 

Derek was one of the few people who could keep up with him like this, at least he was when he let his guard down a little and let himself be… Well, himself. It was like he shelved the Alpha mindset for a little while and became just Derek again. And that guy was smart and sarcastic and secretly caring and ridiculously Stiles’ type. 

Which was kind of unfortunate - yet fun. 

“Your Dad said you should sleep some more,” Derek turned a little more serious. 

“Boring,” Stiles sighed heavily, feeling his leg throb a little with the slight movement. “I’m wide awake, I’m ready to be up and at ‘em, only I can’t actually stand up for a while. Or just, not without some substantial support. But my leg is achy and I can’t take my meds yet, because I have to eat first and it hasn’t been twelve hours since my last dose and I can’t sleep if my leg hurts. My Dad wouldn’t let them give me the good stuff. Damn him.” 

Yes, abuse of painkillers was a serious problem and that stuff didn’t tend to mix too well with his Adderall - which he’d probably forgotten to take, again - but Stiles was in pain. And that made him huffy and pouty and desperate for a fucking distraction. 

“If you finish all your food,” Derek started, and Stiles dunked a pancake in maple syrup, “I’ll drain your pain again. And then you can sleep. I’ll be here.” 

Ugh, that was disgustingly sweet. Stiles loved and hated him for it. 

* * *

Scott had gotten distracted (presumably by Allison) - no one was surprised, least of all Stiles. 

The surprising thing was that Stiles had actually fallen asleep again after his late breakfast - or was it more like brunch, really? He’d slept well too, because Derek had worked his wolfy magic on Stiles after a hearty breakfast-brunch. He’d slept for hours, more steadily than he had that night. It was the middle of the afternoon when he woke up again - the clock said it was almost four o’clock. He felt almost refreshed, and pretty much pain free. 

The most surprising thing of all was that Derek was still there, reading something off Stiles’ laptop screen, one hand on Stiles’ uninjured ankle as he continued to drain any nagging pain that might have popped up during Stiles’ lengthy nap. 

“Hey,” Stiles warbled, still half asleep. “You’re here. Scott bailed, I assume.” 

Derek just looked at him, in a fond way that held a lot less frustration than that look usually held, and he didn’t even remove his hand. His warm hand, with the thumb gently rubbing circles around Stiles’ ankle bone. A platonic touch that made Stiles have a not so platonic response that Derek could probably see and smell at this point. 

Stiles Stilinski, that was your life. Rest in peace - or more like pieces. 

“Your Dad was here earlier,” Derek looked away then. “To check up on me. Not you. That’s what he said, anyway. He was pleased to see you were sleeping.” 

That meant yes, Scott absolutely bailed on him for some stupid reason and Derek didn’t want to tell him because he knew that Stiles would be disappointed. Sure, Scott’s focus on Allison wasn’t surprising, but it was occasionally still extremely disappointing. Scott told him he’d understand when he was in a relationship. Stiles honestly doubted that. 

“It’s the only time I can’t get into trouble,” Stiles rolled his eyes at the comment he’d repeated verbatim. “Did he say anything else? Do I need to withhold snacks from him?” 

Because if his Dad had been rude to Derek, who was basically the most supportive friend Stiles had at this point, he was going to have words with him. A lot of words, because Stiles Stilinski could ramble with the best of them, especially when he was half-high on painkillers (or on the dopamine that always spiked when one of the wolves did the pain drain thing). His Dad really had no idea what he was in for when he got home (at some point, Stiles didn’t know when). 

“He’s pulling a double,” Derek was carefully avoiding the subject. 

“Snacks withheld,” Stiles nodded sagely, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “If you’re not telling me what he said, that means he was being rude, and I won’t stand for that. Especially not with you being the only one in the pack not acting like he was raised by wolves. Nope, that was a terrible thing to say. Dopamine is a powerful thing, and you can shut me up any second now.” 

He was expecting a “shut up Stiles” in response - it was the usual thing, and Derek didn’t even sound all that angry anymore when he said it. So Stiles didn’t mind, not really. 

“Erica and Boyd have a date tonight,” Derek seemed to think that explained everything.

“With each other?” Stiles tried to connect the dots, still feeling a bit fuzzy-headed. “Because that’s the only excuse I will accept, and Isaac totally owes me ten dollars. Please tell him I will collect as soon as I’m allowed to leave the house again.” 

Fucking finally, that was all he really needed to say on the topic. When Erica let go of her anger at the male population of Beacon Hills for not noticing her before her drastic transformation, she finally realized that Boyd had noticed her all along. That he’d stood by her side, and never pushed, and never forced his feelings on her (like Stiles had stupidly done to Lydia). And that Boyd was really fucking awesome and deserved to be happy. 

That was the beginning of the speech he’d been writing for their wedding. 

He was that sure of them. 

Isaac thought they wouldn’t get their shit together until after graduation, that sucker. 

“I didn’t want to keep them,” Derek almost smiled for a second. “They’ll probably be around tomorrow. Erica will have details she’ll want to share with you. I’m not planning on being around for that part. She can have her Batman all to herself.” 

Sounded just like Erica - and Stiles was happy to listen. It was kind of awesome to see Erica discover a new balance between angry biker werewolf chick and the sensitive, caring young woman she’d been before. Besides, she was still his favorite person to talk comics with, and she made a great distraction from being cooped up in his room. 

Even though she was going to complain about the smell. Because this was Erica, after all. 

“They have been excused,” Stiles almost wished he had a gavel to make it official. “Are you going to babysit me the rest of the day? And night?” 

Derek in his bedroom at night - that was definitely taking him back to some of their earliest shenanigans. At least he didn’t have to come up with a fake name for him this time, or let him borrow a shirt that looked comically tight on him (that and ridiculously hot). 

Sadly there’d be no pushing Stiles up against a wall. He kind of missed it. 

“Do you need a babysitter?” Derek frowned at that last word. 

“I’m an adult, Der-Bear,” Stiles huffed, always ready to extol the many awesome things about finally being a legal adult. “Therefore it cannot be called babysitting. If you’re bored enough to keep me company all day and all night, you can stick around. I won’t be up to my usual standards of entertaining, but I’m sure you’d prefer that anyway.” 

It was no surprise that most people thought that Stiles was a bit much (or more like,  _ a lot _ much), so maybe Derek would actually want to spend time with him now that he’d been forced to settle down quite a bit. Maybe now that he was sleepy and Derek could knock him out with a pain drain or his meds, Derek would stick around for a little while longer. 

That or his guilt was his sole motivator. Yeah, that made sense. Stiles had gotten hurt in service of the pack after all. That was enough for Derek to start worrying. 

“I don’t,” Derek said sharply. “Prefer you that way.” 

Well fuck him gently with a chainsaw. What did that even mean?

“I know I’m a pain in the ass,” Stiles shrugged. “It’s okay. And you’re right, I’m probably even more of a pain when I’m injured and whiny and in pain. So I don’t blame you if you want to leave. I can handle myself for a little while longer.” 

He probably could, if he made it downstairs somehow at some point. Because all of the food was downstairs - and the TV was downstairs, and he could just sit on the couch and couch potato the rest of the day away until it was time to go to bed. He could even sleep on the couch until his Dad got home and helped him back upstairs. 

Solid plan. No need to put Derek out, or anything. 

“I’m okay here,” Derek pointedly looked at the screen instead of looking at Stiles. 

“No need to martyr yourself, dude,” Stiles had to make sure Derek knew that. “The breakfast in bed thing is more than enough. And the pain draining! You’ve done the good little Alpha thing, no need to force yourself to spend more time with me.” 

It was kind of Derek to help out, it really was. And Stiles appreciated it, more than Derek would ever know. And he was going to appreciate it some more after Derek left, letting himself get caught up in stupid fantasies of Derek taking care of him just because he wanted to, because he liked Stiles’ company and wanted to be near him all the time. In that version of events Derek really appreciated the no underwear thing. 

“I like being here for you,” Derek flushed underneath that ridiculously attractive beard of his. “I don’t like that you’re injured and helpless, but… It’s nice to feel needed, like I can make a difference. Even if it’s just sitting here and making sure you have something to eat, and you’re not in pain when you need to sleep. I want to help you get better.” 

Yeah, being around someone who wasn’t healing as quickly was probably nerve-wracking for Derek. Stiles was even more of a weakness in the pack like this, unable to defend himself from any threats. Derek probably felt like he had to protect the pack by sticking with Stiles, felt like he had to help Stiles heal like he helped the Betas when they got injured. Pack healed faster when they were all together, and this was a human version of that. 

Sort of. Derek wasn’t human after all. Sometimes Stiles almost forgot about that for a second, or at least, forgot about how differently Derek had been raised. He’d never had to worry about broken bones or cuts or bandages or illness. Not like Stiles had. 

“Human healing is hard, huh?” Stiles was starting to put it together. 

Commiserating with Derek sounded like the best protocol here, like the best path to take. It meant that Stiles acknowledged that he was just a fragile human, accepting the Alpha’s protection while he healed from his stupid human injuries. Or well, Stiles was hoping Derek wouldn’t be around like this for the six weeks the cast was supposed to stay on - because Stiles really, really needed his privacy after today. And he would again every single time that Derek visited. Because that was the extent of his stupid feelings - trying to keep his distance because letting himself believe that Derek wanted this was a recipe for disaster. 

“Fucking hell, Stiles,” Derek rolled his eyes so hard Stiles was worried he’d injured himself. 

He sounded angry - which used to be Derek’s default setting. That had changed over the course of the past few years - especially when they weren’t in the midst of battle. 

It was weird to see him like this now, so frustrated at Stiles over nothing. 

“Yes, Alpha my Alpha,” Stiles was motivated to be a little shit about it. 

“I want to be here,” Derek was just going to keep saying that, apparently. “Not because you’re the only human in the pack. Because you’re Stiles. And I want to be there for you.” 

What the hell did that even mean? It was nice that Derek insisted that this visit wasn’t just because Stiles was a weakness, a fragile human who needed to be protected from himself at all times. It was nice that it felt like a friendly visit, like a buddy looking after him. Though Scott wouldn’t do all this for him. And that didn’t make Scott any less of a friend - Derek was just going above and beyond in a way that Stiles couldn’t quite explain. 

“You’re a good friend,” Stiles tried to figure out what Derek wanted to hear. 

“Do you really not know?” Derek sighed heavily, and moved to sit on Stiles’ bed.

All this time, he had not let go of Stiles’ ankle, was still touching him so carefully. Stiles was struggling with his composure, trying not to let it affect him - even though no one had ever touched him like this, not really. Bro-hugs and high fives and almost forgotten maternal affection were familiar to him - this was not. 

Derek didn’t need to be touching him constantly - the pain drain lasted quite a while if all the pain was drained from the root. But he was doing it anyway. Why?

“Know what?” Stiles felt like an idiot for even asking. 

“You think Boyd and Erica were bad?” Derek just started talking. “That is nothing compared to the bets that have been placed on us. You and me. Us.” 

Well, yeah, the pack loved to place bets about the most ridiculous things. Seriously, someone needed to discourage those idiots before one or all of them ended up in Gamblers Anonymous because of this bullshit. There were probably bets about the next thing Scott and Allison would fight about, about when Isaac would finally come out to Derek, and about what movie Stiles was going to pick for the next pack movie night. Hell, he knew for a fact that there were several bets in place about Peter fucking Hale and his imminent return. If the asshole came back before graduation and tried to get Derek to give up his Alpha power somehow, Stiles was going to make fifty dollars. 

Okay, maybe he was almost as bad as the rest of them. 

But still, it made sense that there were bets about Derek and Stiles too - probably about the next thing he said that pissed Derek off, or the next time Stiles would get injured, or the next time Derek would backflip into the Stilinski house. He was not going to be surprised about that. 

“That was what your Dad talked to me about,” Derek continued. “While you were sleeping. He told me that he didn’t like me. That he didn’t know me. But that he knew that you do know me, and you do like me, and that he would try to respect that. And that I was invited for dinner next Sunday. Because he wanted to meet his son’s first boyfriend. Properly.” 

Fuck, that was so embarrassing.

“I’ll talk to him,” Stiles immediately reassured Derek. “It’s a stupid misunderstanding. Clearly he isn’t aware that bi guys can be friends with other guys without it being something. I’ll reeducate him and make him apologize to you. You’ll like that.” 

For once, Derek was going to have the upper hand over the Sheriff, and it was going to be a glorious sight to behold. He’d have to keep the rest of the pack away, those creepers, but Stiles was definitely going to be there for the entire apology - he’d earned it after all of the stupid embarrassment he was suffering at the moment. 

First boyfriend? In his fucking dreams. 

“I told him I’d be there,” Derek said. 

Stiles was starting to think the meds were making him hallucinate. “What?”

Was this a fake relationship plot? Was Derek going to pretend they were dating just to keep Stiles’ Dad off their backs about all of the secrecy surrounding the pack? Because that sounded like an awesome fanfiction plot, and a recipe for disaster in real life. At some point his Dad was going to find out about werewolves - because that was just his luck. Stiles really didn’t want some lie about dating Derek Hale (if fucking only) hanging over their heads then. 

“I know we’re not together,” Derek had somehow mustered up the courage to look right at him for this part of the conversation. “I know you don’t feel the same way about me. I’m not asking you to. If this makes it easier for you, I’m happy to do it.” 

Okay, so Derek was willing to go with a stupid fake relationship plot for some crazy reas-

“Feel the same way?” Stiles stammered, because  _ what the fuck _ . “Can you give me a quick rundown of what the same would entail? Because I think I’m having an auditory hallucination!” 

The same? Derek had never expressed any kind of feelings towards him, at least, none that would involve having a “feel the same” type of conversation. No one ever felt the need to have a conversation like that about grudging fondness and maybe a bit of friendship - like allies with friendship benefits. If such a thing existed, even - no one had a “feel the same” convo about it. 

So these feelings Derek was having, they were more along the lines of… more. 

“I’ve tried not to be weird about it,” Derek stopped touching his ankle, and Stiles was trying really hard not to show how disappointed he was about that. “Because you’re not interested in that way. You don’t want to date me. And I’m not… I don’t do one night stands, or flings, or… So, this… I’m interested in you. Romantically. But I can back off.” 

Where the hell did Derek get the idea that the only reason they weren’t together was because Stiles wasn’t interested? Because it was just blatantly wrong, and okay, maybe it wasn’t the only reason, but it was probably the only reason why Derek hadn’t made a move before. That and the age thing, probably - it was a sensitive subject, and Stiles was really going to try not to stick his foot in his mouth about it. Maybe he’d succeed. 

The most surprising thing though: Derek was interested in him. Actually interested. 

“Romantically,” Stiles repeated. “Interested. In me? Me? Are you sure?” 

It made him sound like an idiot, but he had to ask. Because Derek was older, and he had his shit together now (at least more than he had when they first met), and Stiles was eighteen and going off to college a few hours away. He needed Derek to be sure. 

“I’m sure,” Derek scooted up on the bed a bit, so he could reach more than just Stiles’ ankle. “I like you. I would like to date you. And judging by your comments, I have a feeling it is not as one-sided as I thought it was. So I owe Erica five bucks.” 

Yep, they were definitely going to have to send the pack off for some kind of Gamblers Anonymous meeting, because even though the amount was small, there was far too much betting going on in this pack. And Stiles was not going to stand for it, especially not when he was hopefully, maybe dating the Alpha of the pack. 

“Only five?” Stiles was trying not to be offended. 

“It was supposed to be symbolic,” Derek was clearly quoting Erica. “And if you weren’t interested, I’d have enough money to buy myself some ice cream.” 

Stiles had nothing to say against that - because disappointment in love required ice cream, and Erica was smart like that. She was taking care of Derek in a way, making no big deal out of it but also offering him a silly kind of support. And because she was probably very aware of how into Derek Stiles had been (for ages!), she’d been a saint not to ask for more money. 

He was probably going to owe her a favor because of it. 

“Well, we can still get ice cream,” Stiles offered. “As soon as I cash in on my ten dollars, I can take you out for some ice cream. Or well, I’ll pay, you’ll handle transport. Because I’m not waiting six to eight weeks to go on our first date.” 

Derek responded to that by making sure the tray of food (now pretty much empty) was far away from the bed. Which was both an excellent idea and a good hint of where the rest of this conversation was going - and Stiles was absolutely ready to go there. Or, well, he would be once Derek came back, because he wasn’t very graceful at the moment - or ever. 

“I’m also not waiting that long to kiss you,” Stiles made grabby hands at Derek. “Would you just move already? Help your injured boyfriend!” 

Yeah, he went straight from first date to boyfriend, within a matter of seconds, but Derek didn’t seem to mind it. Especially since he appeared to be determined that this was only going to be a thing if Stiles was serious about him. Which he was - and Stiles could totally be serious. 

“Patience,” Derek teased, smiling at Stiles. 

Fuck, that smile was gorgeous. Stiles wanted to see it all the damn time. 

“Haven’t we waited long enough?” Stiles pouted. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek told him, making sure Stiles was sitting upright and there was no pressure on his broken leg. “If you hurt yourself doing this, we’re not kissing until you get rid of that cast. Just a warning. Your Dad will murder me if I make this worse.” 

Stiles would totally defend his now-real boyfriend. And next Sunday, when they all had dinner together, Stiles was going to hold his boyfriend’s hand the whole time, just to really rub it in and show off his first real relationship. And to make his Dad see that Derek was totally a cuddle-wolf, someone who took care of him and appreciated him and made sure he was safe. 

“I’ll be careful,” Stiles promised. “Careful’s my middle name.” 

No one had ever, ever described Stiles as being careful, and they both knew it. But Stiles also knew that he’d promise pretty much anything if Derek would just kiss him already. He wasn’t good at the patience thing, and if his leg hadn’t been in the way, he probably already would have launched himself at Derek - because there was no way that Derek was not going to catch him. That was just the kind of person Derek was - strong, and loving, and safe. 

“No, it’s not,” Derek grinned triumphantly. “Genim.”

And he pronounced it perfectly too, that asshole. 

“I don’t even know your middle name,” Stiles gaped at Derek. 

“That’s more of a third date conversation,” Derek teased.

Unfair - that was just unfair, especially when they weren’t going to have their first date until next weekend, probably, seeing as he wasn’t allowed out of the house at the moment. But the fact that Derek was already joking about third dates, that was everything. 

Before Stiles could open his mouth and say something that undoubtedly would have distracted them both from the kissing yet again, Derek moved in closer. His hand was on Stiles’ cheek, carefully maneuvering them both so they could kiss, so very gently, without aggravating Stiles’ injury somehow. He was so careful. 

It made Stiles want to be careful with Derek too. He kissed back, tried not to get too overenthusiastic right away, tried to set a pace that was comfortable for the both of them. 

“We should do this all the time,” Stiles decided. 

Derek laughed, actually laughed. 

Six and a half weeks later, when the stupid cast was finally removed, Stiles tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and almost faceplanted and/or broke his arm. Derek caught him, just in time. 


End file.
